Bar the Door
by Shtare
Summary: He took her from her home, killed her father and her wolf and is at war with her brother. And yet, for some reason, Sansa Stark couldn't make herself hate him.
1. Chapter 1

"_Go back to your room, bar the doors, and do not open them for anyone you don't know." _

Septa Mordane's words rattled around in Sansa's head as the fled back up the cobblestone walk and into her room. Closing the heavy wooden door behind her, Sansa leaned against it for a moment, trying to catch her breath while looking for something to push in from of her door as Septa had ordered. The closest large object was her vanity. A pretty chunk of wood, carved delicately with gilded swirls and thin, spindly legs. It was fragile, but I would have to do.

Sansa was quick about it, disregarding the cosmetics, perfumes, and oils that used to be so important to her. She hardly even noticed the racket they made when the spun glass vials clattered loudly to the stone floor. Once the furniture was pressed tightly against the entrance to her room, Sansa crouched beside her bed, her back to the wall, facing the door.

For the first time since the ruckus began Sansa's breath slowed, allowing her to relax enough to hear again. And all too soon she desperately wished she couldn't. The clank of armor, clashing swords, and the screams of men assaulted her ears harshly. The sounds coming closer and closer, signaling the approach of soldiers of unknown origin. Sansa briefly wondered about Arya's safety, but at least her sister was under the care of an adult, which was more than could be said for Sansa.

Sansa languished in her thoughts for a while longer before a rattle startled her. Sansa's head whipped toward the door. Someone was trying to get in.

"Come out, come out little bird." A voice crooned from the other side of the polished oak. Sansa fought down the bile that rose in her throat, cowering farther and farther into the floor with each slamming fist on her door. The vanity held for a few more moments before splitting in half, smaller pieces flying through the air as the door burst open. A soldier's body launched through the entryway, the extra inertia from trying to break the door down causing him to overshoot the force needed to complete his task. Sansa covered her eyes as little wooden splitters fell in a flurry around her. By the time she had opened them again, the soldier was pulling her to her feet.

Sansa struggled with earnest. "Release me at once! My father is Hand of the King! He will not stand for your treatment of me!" Sansa looked up into the face of her captor for the first time. It was none other than the Hound, Ser Sandor Clegane.

"Ser Clegane, please let me go," Sansa beseeched him; "Joffrey will not like this." The Hound smirked as his grip on her arm tightened, dragging the flailing girl from her room.

"Foolish child, who do you think sent me?" Sansa looked up at him in shock. Surely not her Joffrey! He cared for her, looked out for her well being. For, not but a day ago he came to her chambers, bearing a necklace to mark her as his fiancé. He even kissed her. Sansa got lost in the memory, Joffrey's warm, slender hands caressing the sides of her face, before coming to rest on her neck. His soft, dry lips brushing lightly against her own-

"Faster girl!" The Hound's voice pulled her from her reverie as his arm dragged her down the hall. Sansa tripped trying to keep up with him, her eyes taking in the presence of the knights of the house Lannister following in their wake. Blood spotted their pretty silver armor, already becoming invisible on their crimson Lannister tunics.

Sansa stopped struggling, and the Hound's hold on her lighted somewhat, but he still made sure he had a firm grip on her arm, just in case she decided to make a break for it. Sansa was quiet as they led her from her house at King's Landing through the streets of the capital, past the market places with people busting through their morning activities. She was led farther, past Petyr Littlefinger's house of ill repute, to the very foot of the main castle of the city.

The Hound led her faster up the stone steps, the pace hurrying. Sansa struggled to keep up, stumbling along behind the burned man. They walked into the very heart of the castle, up to the huge, carved doors of the throne room. Sandor Clegane pulled her to a stop there, looking down to address her directly.

"Now." He began. "You can either come inside quietly, like a lady," Sansa flinched at the title, the grievous murder of her direwolf still fresh. "Or I can make a show of throwing you over my shoulder, embarrassing you in front of the court. Your choice."

Sansa regarded him for a moment, knowing full well it was not beneath the Hound's dignity to do just as he promised. Sansa lowered her eyes and nodded meekly, choosing the Hound's second option.

"Smart girl." The doors seemed to open at his words, the ancient wood groaning in displeasure. Sansa kept her head down as the hound guided her into the throne room, trying to ignore the hushed whispers of the ladies and gentlemen of the court.

A pressure on her shoulder forced Sansa onto her knees, her head still bowed.

"Now Lady Sansa of House Stark, pledge your fealty to your new king." Sansa's head whipped up at his words, the heavy braid of her southern upswept style complaining at the speed.

What Sansa saw made her blood run cold. I was just as Sandor had said. Atop the large iron throne, perched on an elevated dais sat Joffrey, wearing a wicked smile, and the crown of a king.

Ok guys, so this is my first chapter fanfic, so please be gentle with me. I encourage and appreciate constructive criticism, and anything else anyone has to say. This idea just popped into my head, so I haven't had much time to thumb through my book or check out the show so the circumstances of this fic might be a little off, but if you notice anything specific please let me know. I'll try to update regularly, so until next time, Happy Holidays! :D


	2. Chapter 2

Her Joffrey, her prince, her gilded, beautiful lion was king. Sansa could hardly believe it. But there he had sat, atop the Iron Throne, with the Queen standing by his side.

She had been happy at first, delighted. This was the first step toward her future with her beloved. Soon she would bleed and then Joffrey would marry her, and she would give him sons with beautiful blonde hair.. It was all so clear in Sansa's head.

She could almost see them together, him on the Iron Throne, ruling his kingdom with might and mercy, and her at his side, an image of grace and beauty with their son at her feet.

But Sansa didn't realize how quickly it could all fall apart.

Sansa looked up at her beloved Prince- no, King now. She spoke the words of fealty with a smile on her face, imaging how proud her father would be, now that his daughter was marrying the king.

That thought paused her for a moment. If Joffrey was king, that meant that King Robert, Joffrey's father and Ned Stark's good friend was dead. Sansa felt sorrow for her father's loss, but she had not known the drunken, whoring king well.

Once her fealty was sworn and her loyalty to Joffrey's regime secured, she was lifted from the ground by two Lannister guards armed to the teeth.

Sansa looked to Joffrey in alarm.

"My king, what is going on?" Sansa looked at him with wide eyes, eyes full of naïve, girlish wonder. Joffrey assured her with a small, arrogant smile

"Not to worry my lady, now that I am king, I must protect those important to me even more fiercely. Just consider them your personal guard."

Sansa relaxed into the hold of her captors at Joffrey's words, and left without question, still in the grip of her "personal guards."

…...

It had been three days since Joffrey's coronation, and Sansa had not been permitted to leave her room.

Every time she tried, her "personal guards" were quick to stop her. They were silent, ever silent, and Sansa had taken to calling them Borus and Buckle, the names of two twin, dim-witted mules back home at Winterfell.

Sansa had absorbed the long hours of the day with embroidery.

She had already make four dresses, a night shift, a lovely new shield cover for her father, and even a nice skirt for Arya, hoping the wildling child would finally begin to wear the clothes befitting of a lady now that her sister was to be queen.

Sansa was just finishing an embroidery hoop when her door opened.

An unknown Lannister guard entered, Borus and Buckle framing him, all looking grim. They all wore matching golden armor and crimson cloaks, blonde hair skimming the collars of their cloaks. All Lannisters were beginning to look the same to Sansa.

The unknown guard stood silently for a moment as Sansa set down her hoop.

"Come with us now." The guard swept his arm towards the exit of the room, motioning for her to leave.

Sansa's hands fell into her lap, as her heart plummeted to her feat.

"Why?" Sansa asked, her hands beginning to tremble.

The guard looked at her in confusion. "Come with us. Now." Sansa looked into the man's face, seeing his resolve. He would force her if she didn't comply, and he might hurt her.

Sansa stood, smoothing her dress. She didn't know where she was going, but if it was somewhere important, she wanted to look her best.

Sansa walked out her door, the guards closing in around her. The one who had spoken to her walked at her side, putting a gentle, guiding hand on her, leading her through the maze of halls that encompassed the Red Keep.

They kept walking until they entered the king's section of the castle, and right up to the king's own apartment… or, the queen's now that Robert was dead.

The guard motioned for Sansa to stop, before opening the door. He disappeared inside. A few moments passed before Sansa her a voice, far more delicate and kind that the guard's had ever been.

"Sansa, darling." The queen called. "Please come in."

…...

**DADADADA (insert dramatic music). So Cersei summons Sansa, anyone want to guess what the queen has to tell her? Hope you liked this chapter, I'll have the next one up as soon as possible, any feedback is appreciated!**


	3. Chapter 3

"_Sansa darling," the queen called. "Please come in."_

Sansa walked into the room slowly, controlling her steps as Septa Mordane had taught her. The Queen sat at King Robert's former desk, Grand Maester Pycelle, Littlefinger, and Varys the Spider flanking her. Varys spoke first.

"Your father has proved to be an awful traitor, dear."

_Traitor? _Sansa's thoughts screamed, she couldn't believe it. Her father loved the kingdom more than anything, and Robert! They had been friends since boyhood, and her father had spoke of him often as Sansa grew-

"When the King's body was still warm, Lord Eddard began plotting to seal Joffrey's rightful throne." Maester Pycelle spoke up.

Sansa refused to believe this! Her father would never go against Joffrey; he knows how much she loves him! She told them so.

"He wouldn't do that, he knows how much I love Joffrey." They looked skeptical.

"He wouldn't, please Your Grace, there's been some mistake. Go to my father, he'll tell you. The King was his friend."

The Queen spoke.

"Sansa, sweetling, you are innocent of any wrong, we know that. Yet you are the daughter of a traitor, how can I allow you to marry my son?"

No. This couldn't be happening. She had to marry Joffrey! It was her future, her only dream. They must let them marry. She loves Joffrey more than anything in the world; surely the queen must know that?

_How can they pull us away now?_ Sansa though. _It so unfair.._ _I've done nothing wrong._

"A child born of a traitor's seed is no fit consort for our King." Maester Pycelle agreed with the Queen, Sansa would receive no help from him.

"She's a sweet thing Your Grace, but in ten years who knows what treason she may hatch."

Sansa was angered at the maester's words. She would do no treason!

'I won't! I'll be a good wife to him, you'll see! I will be a Queen just like you, I promise, I won't "hatch" anything.' Sansa said, desperate to make them believe her.

The Queen looked conflicted.

Littlefinger, the last person she expected, spoke on her behalf. "The girl is innocent; she should be given a chance to prove her loyalty."

The bearded man looked Sansa in the eye, commanding her to live up to his words.

Sansa looked back to the Queen, knowing that nothing would happen without the Queen's consent, or disagreement. Sansa wanted nothing more than to marry Joffrey and give him strong sons, why could the Queen not see that? She wouldn't commit any treason; she would be a loyal wife to her beloved and a benevolent Queen, just like Cersei!

"Little dove, you must write to Lady Catelyn, and your brother, the eldest, what's his name?" The Queen asked suddenly, pushing parchment towards Sansa.

"Robb."

"Word of your father's arrest will reach him soon, no doubt," the Queen leaned back in her chair. "Best it comes from you."

"If you would help your father, urge your brother to keep the king's peace." A quill was placed in front of her as well; Sansa looked down at it for a moment before gazing back at the Queen.

"Tell him to come to King's Landing and swear fealty to Joffrey."

Sansa was unsure.

"If.. If I could see my father, talk to him about-"Sansa paused; the Queen was beginning to look displeased.

Cersei shook her head. "You disappoint me child. We've told you of your father's treason, why would you want to speak to a traitor?" The Queen was making Sansa feel guilty for even considering conversing with her father.

"I only meant that.. what will happen to him?" Sansa asked.

The Queen was quick to answer. "That depends.."

"On? On what?" Sansa begged. "Your brother."

The Queen lifted the quill, and passed it to Sansa, "and on you."

Sansa took the quill, finally realize that not only her father's fate hinged on the words she wrote, but the fate of her brothers, mother, home, and her marriage to Joffrey. She could only pray that she wrote words the Queen would be pleased with.

….

Sansa barely heard the door close behind her.

It had been a whirlwind experience. Sansa couldn't believe it, her father a traitor, her brother a war leader, her mother a kidnapper.

There had been nothing more painful than when the Queen told her she was no longer a fit match for Joffrey. It had felt as if her father's greatsword had been shoved through her chest. There was no one better suited for Joffrey than her! No one loves him like she does.

It had been Littlefinger who had saved her. He spoke on her behalf and convinced the queen to allow her and Joffrey to marry.

The marriage however, was on the condition that she write a letter to her brother, convince him to put down his sword and swear fealty to her betrothed

Sansa wrote the letter. She wrote it with willingness and excitement. What sacred her however, was her father.

They refused to let her see him, talk to him. Sansa knew he wasn't really a traitor, the queen had it wrong, and if only they would let Sansa talk to him, she could show them the truth.

Sansa was worried. What would happen to her father? Would they kill him? Exile him? She had to know. Sansa had begged the queen to let her appeal on her father's behalf to Joffrey, because she knew her Joffrey could never hurt her, and killing Eddard Stark would hurt her.

Joffrey would spare her father's life. Sansa knew it.

Sansa barely knew how it happened, but all of a sudden she was back at her room, and Borus and Buckle were shutting her door behind her.

Sansa hurried over to chest, ruffling through it to find her favorite dress. A smile split her face when she found it.

The dress was elegant, yet simple. It was the last dress she had made before she departed for Kings Landing. It was delicate tulle green with heavy cream under skirts.

It took Sansa longer that it usually would for do her hair in the elaborate style of the south, for she was without septa Mordane's help.

Once her hair was braided and her dress laced she walked to her door, pulling it open with both hands. Borus and Buckle were waiting for her.

The guided her from her room down to the entrance of the throne room. Sansa couldn't help but remember the days prior, when the Hound dragged her to this very same door.

The same door where she stood ignorant of the world and what was happening to her family, naïve and soft, expecting her father would be able to protect her no matter what.

But her father wasn't here now. It was up to her. And her father's life depended on her saying the right thing.

Sansa held her breath and pushed open the heavy wood, praying that her Joffrey would listen to her pleas.

….

**Sooo another chapter done, I hope you all enjoyed reading this as much as I did writing it. And I the only one that can't wait until April? Our beloved Sansa and Joffrey are returning! But, as usual, all feedback is appreciated!**


	4. Chapter 4

The doors of the throne room opened with a creek, symbolizing Sansa's arrival.

There were plenty of people in attendance of court today, and each and every one turned to look at Sansa. They talk had quieted when she entered, but then whispers had begun.

All stared at Sansa as the descended into the belly of the room, and people parted to let her pass, their eyes glued to her every move.

Based on their actions, Sansa could guess they knew about her father. And they were all here to witness the verdict.

Sansa was arriving just as the last townsperson presented Joffrey with their grievance.

Sansa froze as a complete, all encompassing fear took over her entire body, rooting it in place. Fear for her sister, who she never got along with, and didn't know if she was dead or alive.

Her mother, the woman who had comforted Sansa always, and had listened without complain to her childish prattle.

Her brothers, Robb, the crippled, loveable Bran, and baby Rickon, a boy so young he probably didn't understand why his family was all gone away.

For Septa Mordane, a woman who cared for Sansa always, instructed her and sometimes acted as surrogate mother, regardless of how cruelly and brazenly Sansa treated her.

But Sansa's greatest fear was for her father. Eddard Stark was a proud man, powerful. Sansa couldn't believe that he had done the things the Queen claimed, but she knew that unless she convinced Joffrey to spare her father, Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell would die.

Sansa breathed deeply and stepped forward, all eyes were on her.

Both Joffrey and the queen smiled at her, Sansa took strength from their approval.

But the Grand Maester Pycelle began to speak. Sansa paused to listen, unsure of what he would say.

"In place of the traitor Eddard Stark.."

Sansa frowned at the announcement of her father's crime.

"It is the wish of his Grace that Tywin Lannister, Lord of Casterly Rock, and Warden of the West, be appointed Hand of the King.

Sansa's face fell entirely. Her father's position was gone; there was little hope in Sansa's mind for his redeeming.

But the maester wasn't done.

"Lastly, in these times of treason, and turmoil, it is the view of the council that the life and safety of King Joffrey be of paramount importance."

The queen rose, and addressed Ser Barristan Selmy, the head of the King's Guard.

Sansa couldn't believe it; the queen was dismissing Ser Selmy, believing him too old to properly protect her son! Sansa watched the old man crumble, for he had boldly protected kings his entire life.

As Ser Selmy snapped off his white cloak of the King's Guard, Sansa watched the fabric ripple to the floor. Sansa would remember the fall of that pristine, white cloth, as the fall of her happiness, and her girlish dreams.

The noble knight stood his ground even as Varys the Spider disrespected him, and Littlefinger mocked him.

Ser Selmy cast his sword as Joffrey's feet, commanding him to melt it down and add it to the extensive Iron Throne, before storing from the room.

"If any man in this hall has other matters to set before His Grace, let his speak now, or go firth unto silence."

Sansa looked up to the queen, who stared back at her, blank faced, and unmoving.

"Your Grace," Sansa spoke, her eyes sliding from mother to son.

Joffrey stared into her eyes. "Come forward my lady."

Sansa moved from her position on the fringes of the crowd to the center of the room, directly in front of Joffrey, and his intimidating King's Guard. Sansa couldn't help notice the hole left by Ser Barristan Selmy, and she doubted the Kingslayer would be able to fill it.

"Lady Sansa, of House Stark," the foreman announced her to the assembled crowd.

The Queen spoke to her with a smile.

"Do you have some business for the King and council, Sansa?" The queen questioned. Sansa wondered what the older woman was doing, she had known, and almost instructed Sansa to speak on her father's behalf.

Sansa swallowed her throat dry from anticipation. "I do," Sansa spoke, going down on her knees.

The queen looked almost surprised.

Sansa looked up at Joffrey from her new vantage point, gathering her meager courage to speak.

"If it please Your Grace, I ask mercy for my father," Sansa spoke the words she had been practicing in her mind all day. She did what Septa Mordane told her, she remembered her courtesy, for it was a lady's armor.

Sansa was proud, for her voice didn't shake as much as she expected it too. She battled down her fear before continuing.

"Lord Eddard Stark, who is Hand of the King," Maester Pycelle was quick to interrupt.

"Treason is a noxious weed!" He proclaimed. Sansa's head whipped in his direction, fearing his next words, but knowing what was to come.

"Which should be torn out! We-" Sansa flinched inwardly at his proclamation.

Joffrey spoke before she could.

"Let her speak." Joffrey had interrupted his council member for her; Sansa felt her fear drain away. Her Joffrey would listen to her. Her Joffrey would protect her. "I want to hear what she says."

Joffrey gave her the strength to continue.

"Thank you Your Grace." Sansa smiled at him, her first in days.

Littlefinger spoke before she could. "Do you deny your father's crime?"

It was a loaded question, and Sansa was suddenly afraid again.

"No, my Lords," Sansa responded. "I know he must be punished, all I ask is mercy. I know my father must regret what he did,"

Sansa was getting desperate, and Joffrey leaned forward to hear.

"He was given the milk of the poppy, he was Robert's friend and he loved him, you all know he loved him."

Sansa almost begged them to believe her, they had to, or her father would pay the price.

"He never wanted to be Hand until the King asked him. They must have lied to him. Lord Renly or Lord Stannis, or-"

She was getting increasingly frantic, and the look of Joffrey's face was not helping.

"somebody! They must have lied."

Joffrey leaned on the arm of his gilded, dangerous chair, and spoke.

"He said I wasn't the king." Joffrey's demeanor adopted and almost childlike appearance at his words, like he was slighted by a bully.

Joffrey asked her a question she couldn't possible know. "Why would he say that?"

Sansa was so upset; she didn't know what to do, so she just answered with what she knew.

"He was badly hurt, Maester Pycelle had given him the milk of the poppy, he wasn't himself, otherwise he never would have said it. "

Joffrey looked from the Maester to Sansa; a small hope began to flower in her chest.

Varys looked at her patronizingly. "A child's faith," he proclaimed, "such sweet innocence."

"And yet they say wisdom oft comes from the mouths of babes." Sansa kept her eyes trained on Joffrey, hoping something on his face would give away her father's fate.

Maester Pycelle spoke again.

"Treason is treason!" the old man said definitively.

Joffrey chimed in, "Anything else?"

Sansa was desperate again. She said the only thing she felt could persuade Joffrey her way.

"Of you still have any affection in your heart for me, please, to me this kindness Your Grace." Joffrey leaned back into his chair; an expression of annoyance mixed with indecision clouded his fair features.

Cersei looked apprehensive, also not sure what her son would decide.

Joffrey eyes strayed down to the floor, deep in thought, before popping up suddenly, and training on her face. His mouth proclaiming her father's fate.

"Your sweet words have moved me."

Sansa's heart leapt in her chest, she knew her beloved would listen to her.

"But your father has to confess," Sansa's hope fell slightly, its petals blown by the strong wind of Joffrey's decision.

"He has to confess, and say that I am the King." Joffrey spoke with passion and permanence.

"Or there will be no mercy for him." Sansa remained on the floor, pausing, and knowing full well that if her father didn't confess, it could be her head as well.

"He will," Sansa promised solemnly.

…...

**Once again, let the dramatic music play! I figured it appropriate to end the chapter where the episode ended, and may I just say, this being my first chapter fic, I never fully appreciated how difficult it is for authors to copy word for word what is spoken in a show or movie, because I'm sure I looked ridiculous pausing the TV every 2 seconds to type what was said, and trust me, it was a pain. I have midterms coming up so please don't hate me for taking a bit until my next update. I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter, and as always, any feedback is appreciated! **


	5. Chapter 5

**Let me start off with saying, I am so sorry it has taken so long. I have been a fanfiction reader much longer than a writer, and I know how annoying it is to wait for updates, so I'm sorry. It's my birthday on the 15****th****, so some reviews would make my day! Feel free to pm me as well, I'd love to hear from everyone. I also want to thank my most recent commenter, Bess Woodville. Her comment pulled me out of my writing slump and encouraged me to pick this story back up. Not to say I don't appreciate the previous commenters, because I love you all equally, I just know her words, how few there were, made my day. So thank you Bess But without any further ado, chapter 5. oh, and I do NOT own Game of Thrones.**

**CHAPTER 5**

The trembling was came first, Sansa could feel her bones shaking within her skin, and no matter how hard she tried, Sansa couldn't make them stop. She clasped her fingers together tightly, but it proved in vain. She had already had to change her gown twice, the smooth silk and velvet torn to shreds by her nervous fingers.

Her father would confess, he had too, and then Joffrey would forgive him and they would marry and she would give him sons and all she dreamed would come true. Sansa just knew it would happen. It was her destiny.

The sound of ripping fabric pierced her ears.

_Oh no._

Again. Sansa had torn a third dress. She huffed in a manner undignified for a lady of house Stark, not to mention one betrothed to the King.

Sansa fled into her wardrobe again, snatching the first dress she laid her hands on, not much caring what it looked or felt like, she just needed to be presentable, a daughter lamenting her traitor father, but basking in the glow of her King's love and mercy

_Yes,_ Sansa though. _That is how it will happen. _

Sansa removed her torn gown, casting it to the floor with the others. She pulled on the one from her wardrobe, and emerald shift embezzled with seed pears, mother-of-pear clasps, and emerald beading. She tried to tie the fastening herself, before frustratedly calling for her maids.

Sansa stood still as a pole as her maids fussed around her, tying her gown this way and that, making Sansa more anxious by the moment.

Once they were finished, Sansa wasted no time sending them away. With her hair already done up in the traditional southern style of a highborn lady, she exited her chambers.

The walk from her chambers to the throne room seemed longer than ever that morning, the only sound of her gown gently brushing the stone floor. Maybe the walk wasn't what was longer; Sansa pondered to herself that maybe it was that she was simply walking slower.

For though Sansa had complete faith in her prince's capacity for mercy, she still feared for her father and her sister. Thinking of Arya sent a spear of shame through Sansa's heart. Not once since Septa Mordane had sent her to her chamber had Sansa thought of her younger sister, or even considered asking the queen about her location. Sansa decided then, once her father was cleared of his crimes, and her marriage to Joffrey assured, she would ask about Arya.

Sansa walked through the already ajar throne room door, and found Littlefinger, Varys the spider, and Grand Maester Pycelle waiting there.

"Hello little she-wolf," Littlefinger crowed, reaching out to rub her shoulder lightly. Sansa shot him a small, shy smile.

"We wait now on their majesties," Grand Maester Pycelle croaked, his whizzed beard shaking.

Varys said nothing, but his eyes were always darting, searching out new secrets and scandals, anything useful to pour into Joffrey's waiting ears. Sansa could feel them burning into the back of her neck.

"All present, her Grace Queen Cersei, Queen Regent and Protecter of the realm, and his Royal Magesty, King Joffrey, first of his name, Ruler of the Andals and the first men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Keeper of the realm!" the booming voice of the court speaker was a painful assault on Sansa's ears, but none the less she curtsied deeply.

Cersei had a shrewd smile in place as usual, but Joffrey didn't spare Sansa a glance as he walked swiftly through his small council. Sansa wilted at his disregard, but was bolstered by the queen's greeting.

Queen Cersei smiled warmly at Sansa, and grasped both her hands.

"Come my love," the Queen crooned in her musical voice, "The trial awaits."

Sansa felt her unease return, grateful for the Queen's hands preventing her from tearing at her dress.

A few minor Lords and Ladies fell in behind their small party, all coming to witness the judging of her father. Sansa didn't know these people, she didn't trust them, and she was worried that if they should mistrust of her father, Joffrey would change his mind.

_No. _Sansa told herself. _Joffrey would never do that. He said he would spare Father if he confessed, and he will. _

By the time their troop made it out to Baelor's Sept, a crown had already gathered. It seemed that almost all of King's Landing had come to witness her father's confession. Sansa allowed herself to be guided by the Queen, and took up a position to the other woman's right elbow.

Her father was brought out next, and it was all Sansa could do not to gasp aloud.

Sansa had always thought of her father as a young man. Certainly, he was getting up in his years, and was not as robust as a man of one-and- twenty, but he had always seemed to full of energy and honor. The man before her was unrecognizable.

His hair was a fringe around his face, his sunken in cheekbones poked through his pale skin. He seemed almost years older, his once strong, proud stride interrupted by a horrendous limp. This was not the Eddard Stark that Sansa knew.

Her father's change was the least of her worries however, because the sound of the crowd threatened to swallow her. They were booing and hissing, flinging words filled with hate and malice at her father, and the gold cloaks station to control them were having trouble at the task.

Sansa held her breath as her father made it to the top of Baelor's Sept, Joffrey and all the others looking down on him from a raised platform, Sansa herself among them. Sansa held her breath, waiting for her father to speak. She needn't wait long.

One thing that had not changed about Eddard Stark Sansa noticed was his voice. His deep timbre held the same power and the same slanted words that had sung her to sleep in her earliest years, and had promised her a wedding to her love.

"I am Eddard Stark. Lord of Winterfell, and Hand to the King." He paused then, looking down for a moment before looking over at Sansa.

Sansa plastered a sad smile on her face, trying to be as encouraging as possible, and gave her father a little nod. Ned Stark looked back at the crowd.

"I come before you to confess my treason."

_This is it!_ Sansa's inner voice cried. _He will admit his crimes, and Joffrey will let him go free._

"In the sight of Gods and men, I betrayed the faith of my King and the trust of my friend Robert. I swore to protect and defend his children, but before his blood was cold, I plotted to murder his son,

Sansa felt lighter with every word. Soon it would be over, and all would be well again.

"and seize the throne for myself."

Chaos erupted. Shouts were heard from all around the courtyard, everyone from young, green boys to grizzled old crones yelled for her father's blood. Sansa yearned to come to his aid, to defend her father from all of the hatred and rage, but her faith held her back. Joffrey would protect her father, he had promised.

A stone flew out of nowhere and stuck Lord Eddard's temple, causing to stumble back into the hound's grasp. Sansa could hold back a gasp, she wanted to run to her father, but she couldn't. Sansa just prayed to the Gods every one: The merciful Father, loving Mother, beautiful Maiden and wise Crone. To the powerful Smith and the brave Warrior, she even prayed to the Stranger, the faceless God that frightened her. Anything to save her father.

The Hound pushed her father back to his feet before the crowd, and again the once proud Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell stood alone. He spoke again.

"Let the High Septon and Baelor the Blessed witness what I say."

_This is it. These words would save him._

"Joffrey Baratheon is the one true heir to the Iron Throne,"

Joffrey turned to her and her mother, a successful smile plastered on his face

"By the grace of all the Gods, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the realm."

Sansa's heart could all but burst with joy. Her father had said the words Joffrey demanded. He would be safe now, wouldn't he?

The crowd answered. Howls of anger and outrage still assaulted the ears. The people wanted her father dead, and that made Sansa's blood run cold. Grand Maester Pycelle interrupted them.

"As we sin," The old man wheezed, "so do we suffer. This man has confessed his crimes in sight of God's and men."

"The God's are just!" The wizened old man cried.

"But beloved Baelor taught us they can also be merciful." Grand Maester Pycelle turned to Joffrey then, a question on his lips.

"And what is to be done with this traitor, your Grace?" Sansa's heart pumped faster.

The crowd set in again, shaking their fists and screaming for death. Joffrey smiled tightly and held up a hand to silence them, and then, he spoke, Sansa's hope teetering on his words.

"My mother wishes me to allow Lord Eddard to join the Night's Watch," her King paused to look at her, his devilish smile wide, and his eyes gleaming with power.

"Stripped of all power and titles he would serve the realm in permanent exile. And my Lady Sansa has begged mercy for her father."

Sansa couldn't help but smile. All she needed now was the decree she knew would come. Her father would be permitted to take the Black, and live out his life with her bastard half brother Jon on the Wall. He would be far away and out of her reach, but at least he would be alive.

Joffrey's face changed then, and Sansa's world collapsed.

"But they've the soft hearts of women. So long as I am your King, treason shall never go unpunished."

_No._

The only word Sansa could make her mind create, the only defense he had again Joffrey's dangerous announcement.

"Ser Ilyn," Joffrey called to his mute King's Justice. "Bring me his head."

Everything happened at once, and if questioned later, Sansa couldn't recall exactly what had occurred. She and the Queen flew to Joffrey at once, both pulling of his sleeve, begging him no, to call Ser Payne back, the recant his words, but Joffrey remained silent.

A gold cloak reached for her, and Sansa could do nothing but squirm in his hold, begging her King to stop to let her father go like he promised. Sansa was so wrapped up her pleading that she didn't notice her father's steel grey eyes land on her one final time, before returning to the ground.

The only sound was that of the crowd, they cried in agreement, and called for the King's Justice loudly. Varys and Littlefinger moved toward the King as well, all begging for him to see reason, to spare the Lord of Winterfell. But Joffrey was deaf to their pleas.

Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell was forced to his knees as Ser Ilyn Payne strode forward, face grim and had clenching a thick steel blade. She donned an executioner's hood before mounting the platform.

The other members of the small council had given up, realizing that none of their words would move the king, and had taken instead to solemn silence. Sansa was the only one who still struggled, the only one who cried mercy for her doomed father.

The last thing Sansa saw was Ser Ilyn Payne's sword flying through the air before her world went black.

**Poor Ned :'( I amost cried when he died, I loved his character, and Sean Bean was perfect for the role. As per usual I ended the chapter when the episode ended, so as to attempt to keep everything cohesive and fluid. Only one more episode left, and then I'll really be able to let my muse free in other news, April is coming! Which means our lovely Game of Thrones will be returning, and no one is more excited than I am! As always, reviews and rates are appreciated, I'll try to update sooner next chapter, but until next time, goodbye and happy reading! **


	6. Chapter 6

This is the last chapter that will be related to the actual show, so everything after this chapter is my own plot bunnies going nuts. I'm not exactly sure how I'm going to get Sansa to still love Joffrey's after he killed her dad... but I'll try my best. As always, I do not own Game of Thrones, which belongs to the genius George R.R. Martin.

**CHAPTER 6**

Sansa woke to the sounds of birds fluttering all around her, both beside her bed, and out of the window. The bird around her person we're of a different sort however; countless ladies pinning and chirping and giggling as they tended the room.

Sansa's arms felt like lead as she tried in vain to lift them.

_ What's wrong with me? Where is Joffrey? Where is my father.._

It all came back to her then. In a huge rush the event of the previous day flew to the forefront of her mind, eclipsing all other thoughts. She remembered the crowd booing, the Queen with her slight smile, Joffrey's decree, her father on his knees…

A knife of pain shot through Sansa's heart as she bolted upright in bed, sending the little birds a flutter in surprise. Sansa couldn't decide what was more painful, Joffrey's betrayal, or the loss of her beloved father. Sansa was so lost in her pain she didn't notice the few little birds that trickled from her room, swift on wings that would surely bring them to Vary's ear.

_Why did he do that? _She couldn't help but think. _He promised me. He said as long as my father confessed and named Joffrey the one true king he would be spared… Why would my love lie to me? He must have a reason…_

Sansa searched her mind desperately trying to come up with a veritable reason why Joffrey would go against his word, but none came to mind.

She lay back down in bed, grief sapping the strength from her limbs.

Sansa closed her eyes, praying that if they remained that way for long enough, the world would right itself again. Her hope was short lived however, and the Queen burst into her room.

"Sansa darling," Queen Cersei cried in her high, sing song voice. "Up now, you must come to court this morning. Now, show no grief, you must smile prettily for the people, Joffrey will expect it. Up now."

Cersei didn't move Sansa however, instead sending her maids to go it.

Sansa was numb as four ladies, the very same who had vacated the room at her awakening, pulled her out of her night shift, leaving Sansa in nothing but her small clothes.

She looked down, as if confused as to where her clothes had gone, but theladies were quick to recify that. They pushed and pulled Sansa into a salmon colored gown complete with garnet trimmings.

Her Hair was next, done up in southern braids.

"Good." The Queen said, clapping her hand together. "Now, bring her to the Hall."

Cersei left the room then, in the same manner she had entered. Sansa felt in a fog, barely aware of herself being led from her chambers to the throne room. She felt a sudden coldness on her cheeks then, and reached up with numb fingers, whipping away what she discovered to be tears.

The ladies deposited her in the galley before melting away into the shadows. Sansa knew in her haze what she needed to do. She must stand there and wait. All day if she must, but Joffrey could be the only one to dismiss her, and wait she did.

Sansa watched Joffrey order and young singers tongue out, before leaving the throne; she steeled herself as he approached her.

"You look quite nice," Joffrey address her.

Sansa responded as befitting of a lady of her station.

"Thank you my Lord."

"Your Grace," Joffrey corrected sharply. "I'm king now."

Sansa was finding it difficult to concentrate on Joffrey over the sound of the singers cries.

"Walk with me," Joffrey commanded, "I want to show you something.

Sansa was hesitant to follow, but the Hound spoke next." Do as he bid, child."

Sansa thought it best to oblige.

Sansa caught up with Joffrey easily enough, walking beside him while his trail of guards followed. Joffrey leds her from the throne room to the outer hall, along the maid gate of the keep. Sansa couldn't help but wonder what he meant to show her. Sansa heard a buzzing in her ear, and realized that Joffrey had begun talking again.

-"and once you've had your blood, I'll put a son it you." Sansa couldn't despcribe the emotion she felt. Once the thought of bearing Joffrey's sons would have made her all but weep for joy, but now she just felt cold.

"mother says it shouldn't be long," Joffrey finished as they arrived at a break in the hall. A small gangplank led out to the upper wall, where guards would walk.

Sansa looked up, seeing the last thing she wanted too. Horror filled her, she begged.

"No! Please no," Sansa tried to run, but a gold cloak grabbed her arms, pushing her forward. She did all she could, pressing her face down into her dress, and clasping her eyes as hard closed as possible. Joffrey spoke again, pointing to her father's head, disfigured from the tar used to preserve it.

"This is your father, this one here, " Joffrey said pointing as he walk out on the gangplank, every step bringing him closer to the head.

He looked back at her, displeased that Sansa wasn't looking as well.

"Look at it and see what happens to traitors."

Sansa couldn't take it.

"You promised to be merciful," she wimpered, her face still pressed low.

"I was." Joffrey rebutted. "I gave him a clean death."

Sansa said nothing; she couldn't make her mouth form the words.

"Look at him," Joffrey said it softer now; a coaxing timbre a lover would speak.

"Please let me go home, I won't do any treason I swear!" Sansa begged now, she didn't want to look at her father's head, she just wanted to familiar comfort of her bed at Winterfell, of her ladies twittering and her embroidery hoops.

Joffrey would hear none of it.

"Mother says I'm still to marry you so you'll stay here and obey." His words were much more clipped now, and even though Sansa couldn't see him, she could tell he was glaring at her.

"Look at him!" Joffrey yelled, his patience gone now.

Sansa knew she couldn't resist any longer. She lifted her head slowly, as slowly as possible that could still be considered moving. Sansa steeled her heart and her mind, freezing herself and her emotions solid. That was what she needed to do. Embrace the cold and numbness insider her, to become one with the ice, as so many Starks before her. Cold and cool, Sansa looked.

The reality of the head would have hit Sansa harder if her heart had not frozen. She merely asked, "How long do I have to look?"

Joffrey didn't like that

"As long as it pleases me."

He didn't like her lack of reaction, so Joffrey did what any petulant child would do, he made it worse.

"Would you like to see the rest?" He asked gingerly.

Sansa replied as befitting of an ice lady.

"If it please your Grace." Joffrey's ire rose. He pointed aggressively.

"That's your Septa there," He said, pointing to a more decayed head a few spikes down, this effected her even less, she had never particularly like Septa Mordane.

"I'll tell you what; I'm going to give you a present." Sansa kept looking at the heads, knowing the less she showed him, the more he would say. Even highborn ladies needed their rebellion when they could get it.

"After I raise my armies and kill your traitor brother, I am going to give you his head as well." Sansa responded before she could stop herself, cursing her words as they left her mouth.

"Or maybe he'll give me yours."

Sansa looked at Joffrey then. She had spoken the words, and even if she regretted it, she would own them now. The fire she saw in those eyes threatened to melt the ice around her heart. Joffrey reigned himself in.

"My mother tells me a King should never strike his Lady," Joffrey was colder than her then.

"Ser Merryn?" Sansa felt a hand pull of her arm, spinning her to face the knight that had previously held her in his grasp. He struck her across the face, once for each cheek.

The old Sansa would have cried and begged for mercy, but this was the new Sansa, the Sansa made of ice. Metal hands couldn't harm her. Sansa felt a warm line of blood flow slowly from her split lip.

Ice Sansa looked back at Joffrey. The boy she loved, her King, the father of her future children. And irrational impulse took her over. Joffrey was still standing alone of the gangplank, not looking at her. Some ethereal force gripped Sansa's legs then, spurning her slowly forward. Step after step Sansa tried to fight herself, but to no avail. She was less than and foot from him then, and arm outstretched to do the unthinkable… to push him over.

A cold metal hand grabbed her.

"Come," the Hound spoke, raising a cloth to wipe away the blood on her lip.

Joffrey leaned over her shoulder.

"Will you obey now?" A pregnant silence followed "… or do you need another lesson?"

Sansa wiped at her lip, not answering.

Joffrey decided not to wait.

"I'll look for your in court," he said, brushing past her, and retreating back into the castle.

The Hound leaned toward her after the other guards and followed Joffrey away.

"Save yourself some pain girl," the burned man counseled her, "Do what he says."

Sansa remembered her courtesy as the Hound went to talk away, she moved to give the cloth back to him. The guard refused.

"Keep it; you'll be needing it again." He walked away.

Sansa was left alone with the heads then, their glazed eyes staring down at her in silent judgment, and silent pleading. She turned her face to her father again, trying to remember what his smile looked like. She could feel the ice around her heart cracking. Joffrey had made her look at the heads. He could make her look at them all he wanted, but he couldn't make her see them.

**Thank goodness, the episodes are finally over! :D Not that I don't love this show, but now I can finally stop retyping the episodes and let my little plot bunnies free. Look for an update sooner rather than later, but not promises. As always, rate and review please! **


	7. Chapter 7

Red and gold. Never ending fields of red and gold flooded Sansa's vision wherever she went. The castle weavers had just finished Joffrey's new standard, and crowned stag and lion on a crimson and black fields respectively, in battle.

Sansa thought it strange that Joffrey would change his standard. He was a Baratheon, was he not? What reason was there to include the Lannister lion of his mother's house? Sansa could have dwelled on it, but there were more pressing matters at hand.

_Yes… pressing indeed. So important they could not wait. _In the days following her father's death and Joffrey's parading of her father's head, she had rarely seen him. Sansa had shown up in court as the King required, but he spared her no more than a passing glance each day, and Sansa was quick to depart at each session's conclusion.

In fact, not a single member of the royal family, nor the small council had benigned to speak with her. The gold cloaks that shadowed her every step were Sansa's only reminder that they remembered her existence at all.

Sansa was not without entertainment in her solitude however. The royal family had thought to give her a few spools of thread and some embroidery hoops to pass the time, and pass the time she did. Sansa's days were spent frivolously. She woke well after the proper time for a lady each morning, and lazed about in bed for a good part of the day. And when the mood struck Sansa to become active, she often remained in her night clothes for sometimes even the day's entirety.

It wasn't until nine days after her father's beheading that Sansa spoke to Joffrey, and she remembered it well.

_Sansa stared intently down at her chosen embroidery hoop. She had selected a lily pattern for the day, it's meaning of foreboding and death fitting her dower mood. She was about half way into the flower when a sound cracked through the still air of her concentration. _

_A knock on the door._

How peculiar. _Sansa thought. A few days ago she would have felt a stab of fear at the sound, for then she had still awaited the force of Joffrey's residual ire, but that fear had abated on the fifth day. Though none were there to witness it, Sansa gently placed down her embroidery hoop, lifted her skirts slightly, and stood up,all elegance and grace and everything that she had been taught growing up in Winterfell. And even though there were none there to witness the act, something about the familiar twinge in her lower back at the odd angle gave her some comfort in the routine._

"_Who is it?" Sansa called as she neared the door, resting one hand on the wood itself and one of the shiny brass knob._

"_It is your King." A rough voice said from the other side of the polished oak. "Open this door immediately."_

_Sansa could hear the razor sharp edge in his voice and she had heard it enough times to know that arguing with him now could prove fatal._

_Sansa wretched the door open quickly and stepped to the side as Joffrey barreled into her room. Sansa stood stalk still before dipping into her usual curtsy. _

_Joffrey perused her room slowly, eyeing the embroidery hoops scattered about, and the bits of unfinished embroidery clothes laying strune about the space. Sansa blushed lightly, embarrassed at her messiness. _

_Joffrey Baratheon's piercing green eyes landed on her last, those emerald orbs almost glowing with intensity. He bowed to her stiffly. "You look well Lady Sansa."_

_Joffrey stepped closer to her, stretching out his arm. Sansa jumped back startled. The King gave her a harsh look before closing the door, proving to Sansa that that was all he had meant to do in the first place. She breathed a sigh a relief. _

_Joffrey's eyes narrowed, as he stepped toward her. His overextended movement had him almost standing on top of Sansa, and despite their height difference, the King looked directly into her eyes, snaking a thin limb around her back to keep her pinned to him._

_A flush immediately took over Sansa's cheeks, unaccustomed to their close proximity, in all parts the maid._

"_Is it so hard to imagine my touch My Lady?" Joffrey questioned, his thin lips brushing against the shell of her ear, tickling her slightly. Sansa's whole body felt warm. _

_Sansa looked anywhere but his eyes. _

"_N-No my prince- I mean your Grace." Sansa trembled with fear. They were alone in her chamber. Joffrey could do whatever he wished with her, and Sansa would be unable to refuse him. _

_Sansa felt Joffrey's eyes burning into her body. His arm suddenly released her before using both hands to clasp her upper arms. Sansa winced, he was strong._

"_Where is your necklace?" Joffrey asked, his voice leaked thinly veiled contempt._

"_M- My what your G-Grace?" Sansa stammered, fearing Joffrey's wrath._

_He released her quickly then, pushing Sansa away in the process. The maid stumbled at the sudden movement before catching herself on a small table usually used for tea. Sansa looked up to see Joffrey faced away from her, pacing the length of her room like a caged lion. _

_Joffrey stopped, half facing Sansa, and half facing the window, one hand on his hip, the other rubbing over his mouth as if trying to wipe away the scowl that tightened his features into a mask of rage. He pulled his hand away from his face and extended it quickly, a lone finger pointing in her direction._

"_Your necklace! The one I gave you. Where is it?" Joffrey questioned, coming closer to her. Sansa crouched back against the wall again, face lower, trying not the meet his eye._

"_Well?" He questioned sharply, invading her personal space again, roughly grabbing her face. Sansa whimpered, refusing to meet his eye. She wanted to respond to him, to whisper and to murmur, anything to calm her fierce lion of his anger, but no words would leave her lips. This angered him. _

_Sansa felt his next move, a swift hand descending onto her face, colliding with her flesh and emitting a sickeningly sharp sound. The force of Joffrey's blow knocker her off her feet, and in her fall she took the small table with her, both crashing to the ground in a flurry of silk and wood. _

_Sansa cradled her cheek, already feeling the tingling painful sensation that she knew would soon be accompanied by a blue and purple bruise. Sansa looked up at her king then. He stood in such a way that his golden hair and jewels were caught by the falling sun in the window, casting him in a warm light. Joffrey seemed almost lit from within. Striking her seemed to have calmed the worst of his rage, and now he just stood there, looking half the boy with his fair skin and youthful frame, gazing at her with an unreadable expression in his icy cold eyes. Sansa's world came to her then, her hand still cradling her bruised cheek._

"_There, my King," Sansa pointed with her other arm to her wardrobe, or more exactly the mahogany box trimmed with silver and mother-of-pearl that sat upon it. Joffrey looked at Sansa for a moment more before quickly striding across the room, his long legs eating up the distance in just a few strides. Joffrey wasn't careful and he wrenched open the lid of the box. Grabbing it with both hands, the King overturned it quickly, watching with a vacant, searching expression as the contents spilled along the wardrobe's shelf. Sansa watched mutely as Joffrey rifled quickly through the pile, retrieving the pendant. _

_It was beautiful really. Pressed gold, embellished with vines and leaves and crowns. The pendant itself was roughly the size of a golden dragon, with more of the thickness of a silver stag. It proudly portrayed the slightly raised image of the King's crest, a crowned stag and lion halved by a tall scepter, in combat. It would be hung high on Sansa's pale neck by a wrought golden chain, almost as heavy as the pendent itself. _

_Joffrey clenched the pendant in a tight grip as he stalked back to Sansa. The maid cowered closer to the wall, wishing that she could melt into it, anything to save her from Joffrey's wrath. But no matter how tiny she got he would always be able to find her. _

_Sansa yelped as her hair was captured in his iron grip, and her body was hauled forcibly into a kneeling position, her back facing the King. Sansa visibly flinches when his other hand came to brush her neck, across her collar bone, and up her tilted cheek. Sansa allowed herself for a moment to image Joffrey's touch as that of a lover's filled with passion and gentleness. But Sansa knew Joffrey's hands well, and those hands could meet out punishment and pain just as readily as they could caress._

_Joffrey's hand left her hair then and Sansa had no inclination of his presence other than the warmth that enveloped her body wherever their skin touched. Sansa gasped at the feeling of cold metal hitting her skin. Joffrey's warm hands provided a soothing counterpoint as he fastened the chain about her neck. His hands came to rest on both her shoulders then. Sansa felt Joffrey's breath tickle her ear._

"_Never take it off again," Her King ordered. Sansa could hear the veiled threat in his command, and shuddered at the thought of what would happen to her should she choose to disobey. _

_Sansa stood with the help of Joffrey's hand, his chivalrous upbringing showing through for the first time in this particular encounter. She met his icy blue eyes with some hesitation, and was started at the warmth she found there. There was something unreadable in the King's remote expression, but it looked remarkably similar to regret, and longing. _

_Joffrey's hand rose once again, now that the two were at eye level, and Sansa had to force herself not to flinch away from it. His touch was remarkably gentle as he stroked her face, one calloused thumb brushing over the apple of her cheek bone. His eyes darkened at the cut still prominent on her lip from the assault of his guardsman._

"_I'm sorry, my Lady," His words were soft, "I didn't want to hurt you but you gave me no choice."_

_Sansa nodded hesitantly, a small, accepting smile graced her lips as her hand reached up to clasp her love's, holding it still against her face. _

"_Next time I will listen, my King." Sansa said softly. It was true, she hadn't listened to Joffrey and that was why she had been struck. Her King had given her ample time to respond to his request and still she refused. It was amazing to Sansa that he even gave her as much time to answer as he did before commanding his soldier. Sansa sighed inwardly. As always, her King was merciful beyond measure. _

_Joffrey gazed upon her for a minute more, before turning on his heel and leaving the room, table still overturned and beloved still terrorized. Sansa mourned his leaving. She felt… wrong _without_ his there, hollow, like she no longer cast a shadow without her King's radiant light. And in his absence, her necklace felt strangely like a collar. _

Sansa reached up to touch the pendant that now forever graced her skin. As Joffrey had commanded those many days ago, Sansa hadn't removed the pendant, not even once. She did, however, long for her King. Day and night Sansa toiled in her chambers, reliving her father's death in every dream and every nightmare, waking up in a terror some nights to find her necklace strangling her with its heavy golden weight. Her subconscious sometimes likened to cold metal to Joffrey's hands, but that mirage was dispelled every morning when she remembered the rough warmth of those same hands.

It got harder everyday to live without him. Locked in her tower, there wasn't much to do but think. Her father was a traitor, Sansa knew, simple as that. Joffrey had done his sworn duty to the crown and the kingdom by removing a veritable threat. She was sure he would have spared Lord Eddard for her, but with the whole kingdom watching, and the small council breathing down his back, Joffrey had done what he could. And Sansa just had to reconcile with that, and understand that her Joffrey was not the Joffrey Baratheon that the country saw, and her Joffrey was not the one that killed her father.

And now she just had to wait for her Joffrey to come to her.

**Tah-duh! Behold the first chapter of my own story line. I'm going to be completely honest when I tell you I have only the vaguest idea where this is going, so expect sporadic updates. I hope you all enjoyed Sansa's blatant denial and Joffrey's hot and cold behavior, I do my best to channel their characters into my writing and I hope it showed through for you all. As always, rate and review, I would love to hear from anyone. **


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